


Bruises and Flowers Aren’t the Same Thing

by impulsivedandelion



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cute, Fluff, M/M, Self-Indulgent, Sexual Tension, Whatever the opposite of slow burn is, a smidgen of, it’s like two am, punches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 18:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19025791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impulsivedandelion/pseuds/impulsivedandelion
Summary: When Dean first punched Castiel, he meant it. Because that was in the beginning, when Cas was a monster. Or, at least, something other than human. He’d stabbed Castiel through the chest with the demon knife and been scared shitless when he didn’t die. And he’d fought Cas so many times after, if fought was even the right word, because they were never fair fights, anyway. Dean didn’t even remember the reasons behind half of them, they were so long ago.





	Bruises and Flowers Aren’t the Same Thing

When Dean first punched Castiel, he meant it. Because that was in the beginning, when Cas was a monster. Or, at least, something other than human. He’d stabbed Castiel through the chest with the demon knife and been scared shitless when he didn’t die. And he’d fought Cas so many times after, if fought was even the right word because they were never fair fights, anyway. Dean didn’t even remember the reasons behind half of them, they were so long ago. But Cas had probably deserved it.

 

He’d punched Cas in that room, once. The one Zacheria had him trapped in. The one that was disgusting cream and blue and made him start hating those amazing burgers (almost). Cas had said something, or done something, and Dean had punched him. Right on the jaw. And Cas had just tuned his head on impact, didn’t even flinch. There wasn’t a mark— hell, his head hadn’t even snapped back. 

Dean had pulled his fist away. He had to turn away to cradle it because he didn’t want to show pain. He’d been offended, frustrated, because on Earth he’d had that power, at least. Vampires, demons, werewolves. They had all reacted to Dean’s punches. But now this cocky, arrogant bastard was just... still. It had been like punching a statue. Dean had stared at Castiel’s unaffected face through a cloud of rage, and then Castiel had saved him. 

 

Dean punched Castiel again, after the fall. There had been times before, and there would be times after, but this time stuck out for Dean. Maybe because it was the first time Cas reacted. Maybe because it was the first time he punched Castiel for something he didn’t deserve, not really. Or, at least, it was the first time Dean had noticed Cas responding. The first time Cas had bruised.

Cas had done something stupid, again. The details were fuzzy now in Dean’s memory. He’d pulled a Winchester, done some self-sacrificing bullshit and put himself in danger to save him and Sam. And they’d killed the monster or burned the bones and were driving back to some shitty motel but Dean couldn’t think because his head was swimming and his hands were gripping the steering wheel too tightly. 

Dean didn’t really want to hurt Cas, but he was angry, and full of conflicting feelings, and his eyebrows were creased and he couldn’t really see the road in front of him because it was dark and there had been something in his eyes, tears, maybe, but maybe not. And he couldn’t stop thinking about Cas, Cas, Cas, that idiot. So he pulled over. 

He’d pulled Cas out of the car by the lapels of his trench coat and shoved him against something. Maybe a dilapidated building, maybe the Impala. He remembered feeling bad, because hadn’t Cas saved him, once? But then he’d looked at Cas, at his wide eyes, his nose, the small, confused crease between his eyebrows. And Sam had been right there, and what was he supposed to do? He was angry, after all, so he’d hit Castiel. Right in the chest. Punched him across the face. And Castiel just took it. It was like fighting a rag doll.

Dean would be lying if he said he wasn’t strangely shocked to see a bruise start to flower, purple and blue on Castiel’s cheek. 

 

It was the Mark’s fault, really. The next time Dean beat Castiel to a pulp. There was something small and flickering inside him telling him to stop, that he would regret this later, more than he would regret anything else. But he’d kept going, and going. Putting his fists wherever they would reach, slamming Cas down like he was the enemy and not family. He kept going even after he saw the hurt in Castiel’s eyes, even after blood started to drip down Castiel’s face, even when Castiel stopped fighting back. Even when Castiel was lying passively on the ground, a sob hidden somewhere underneath a soft exterior, Dean had kept punching and hitting and he’d taken that angel knife and raised it. And he was ready to drive it into Castiel’s chest and see light spill out of his eyes and mouth. But then the tiny flickering light in his soul had come through and told him no. And so he slammed the blade into a pile of books and left Castiel bloodied on the floor of the library. 

 

It was a long time later, after they’d made up and were back to being best friends, when Dean and Sam were able to find a hunt not related to any greater apocalyptic bullshit. With Amara dealt with, and Lucifer down in the cage, things were almost back to normal.

Dean wasn’t scared of demons anymore. Because hadn’t Castiel taken down dozens of demons on his own when he first came to Earth? And Dean could best Cas easily in a fight, so by association Dean should be able to handle demons, no problem. Still, on the next hunt that hinted at something demonic, Dean let Cas tag along with him and Sam. Which ended up being a good thing, because of course there were more demons than expected and of course they were overpowered. 

Dean was lost in the middle of a fight. He let his instincts kick in because at a certain point that was sometimes the best you could do. He knifed the black eyed bitch in front of him and spun around, ready to take on whatever was next. But there were two there, and another one behind him. 

He allowed himself only a moment of shock before responding, a moment of “Well, fuck.” And then he barreled onwards. He punched the demon in the stomach, and felt a cold shock when the demon just laughed. It was like punching an unresponsive corpse. 

In no time at all one had him on the floor. He’d ganked two of them before the third had a chance to tear the knife out of his hand. But now the last one was scowling down at him, knife poised at his throat and the only thing keeping Dean alive was the strain of his arms pushing up. He had that moment of cathartic fear that he’d almost gotten too used to. That long moment he had to come to terms with his own mortality, and accept the fact that “This is probably how I’m going to die.”

But then there was light, somewhere in the distance, behind the demon. It barely had time to widen its eyes in shock before it, too, died in a flash of light. Dean shielded his eyes just after he registered Castiel’s hand on the back of the demon’s head. 

 

The ride home was quiet. Sam twiddled his thumbs in awkward silence, and when he tried to talk to his brother, Dean only reached forward and increased the volume of the same thirteen Led Zeppelin tracks on repeat. 

All Dean could think about was Castiel’s face, bloody and looking down on him with an intense glare of concern and determination and anger, eyebrows creased in something other than confusion, as the husk of a demon fell to the floor. All he could think was, Cas took down three demons in less than a second. He didn’t even break a sweat. He was powerful. 

It wasn’t anything Dean didn’t know before. He’d just forgotten, over the years. He’d forgotten how when Cas first showed himself, he’d burned out someone’s eyes. He’d come with a storm and made the barn shake. He could burst lights without a second glance, and apparently kill demons like second nature. Dean had known this, he’d known Cas was a warrior, but after so many years of Cas being so pliant under Dean’s touch, so many years of Cas not fighting back to Dean’s punches, Dean had just... he’d learned to underestimate Cas. And that brought up a new question. 

Finally he turned down the music and breached the awkward lack of communication. “Hey, Cas?” Castiel’s eyes met his in the rearview mirror. “What the fuck was that back there?”

Castiel tilted his head. “I thought you would be pleased.”

“Yeah, buddy, don’t get me wrong, I’m stoked those demons are dead, but... it was so easy for you. I mean...”

Dean didn’t know how to continue. Because now Dean remembered how Cas never responded to his first punch, how he’d taken down both him and Bobby in under a minute, how he’d hurt Dean’s wrist when Dean tried to punch him in the cream and blue room where he’d killed Zacheria. But now, now Cas bruised too easily under Dean’s fists. And Dean couldn’t understand why. And he didn’t know how to ask.

So Dean did the only thing he knew how to do. He pulled over, ignoring the look of confusion on Sam’s face. He opened the back door and pulled Cas out, hating how Cas was easier to control than a baby, when really he could kill Dean faster than he could blink. But scared was the last thing Dean was. He was angry. Angry that Cas would willingly let anyone take advantage of him, even Dean. Especially Dean. 

Cas stepped out of the Impala, shoulders slumped, almost as though he knew what was coming. Rage unfurled in Dean’s chest. 

His mouth set in a straight line, jaw clenched. He gripped the lapels of Castiel’s trench coat in an all too familiar gesture that Dean hated now, and shoved Castiel against a tree that conveniently happened to be on the side of the road. 

Castiel’s eyes flicked downwards. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean tensed and brought his hand up, and Cas flinched. Flinched. Something in Dean melted, and he brought his fist down, hard, on the bark near Cas’s face, not caring that he would probably get splinters. 

He was breathing heavily, head down, pinning Castiel’s body against the tree, every bone in his body screaming for him to hit something, to let out his frustration. But he was done using Cas as his willing punching bag. Done. 

He took a moment to catch his breath, seeing red, shoulders heaving, while Cas just stood there. And when Dean looked up, Castiel’s eyes met his too easily. Now it was Dean’s turn to crease his eyebrows in frustration. 

“Cas, you— why?”

“Because, Dean. I want you to be happy. You— when you hit me, it’s because I deserve it. The bruises, the pain, they are merely physical manifestations of my guilt.”

“But, when I had the Mark, that was—“

“Even then, I could never truly fight back, Dean. My heart would not be in it. I would rather die by your hands than live an eternity knowing I denied you something you desire.”

Dean shook his head. This was—. “Cas.” 

“Dean, I—“

Castiel’s eyes flicked down, unmistakably, to Dean’s lips. And Dean realized how close they were. How he could already feel Castiel’s breath mingling with his own, how when he moved his forehead less than a millimeter, it was pressing against Cas’s. And Cas was so still, almost shaking. So Dean acted impulsively, giving into an urge that he’d apparently been repressing for years, and closed the distance between their lips, bringing his hand to the back of Castiel’s head. 

The kiss started off hesitantly but became forceful too quickly, full of frustration and pent-up anger, yet Castiel’s eyes still fluttered closed, and his body still melted, his hands tentatively reaching around Dean. But when Castiel’s hands found Dean’s back, Dean abruptly pulled away. 

“Wait, Cas, you can’t—” Dean ran a hand through his hair. “You can’t just go along with everything if you don’t want it, Cas. Do what you want. Not what you think I want you to do.”

He was pleasantly surprised when Cas pulled him forwards by his wrist and hesitantly brought their lips together in something so soft and gentle Dean thought he would break. Cas slowly brought one hand up to Dean’s jaw while the other snaked behind his head, pulling him closer. And then they were pressed together back against the tree, Cas’s hands pressed flat against Dean’s back, hugging him so tightly that from a distance they looked like one lump rather than two people. 

And Dean knew that they should probably talk about feelings and repressed emotions and where they wanted this to go and all that other crap, but that could wait till later. For now, he just ran his hands over Cas’s sides, feeling his best friend’s body through the thin white dress shirt underneath the suit and trench coat, wondering why he hadn’t done this sooner.

He was grazing his teeth against Castiel’s neck, lost in the soft breathy sounds that came out of the angel’s mouth, and was ready to drop to his knees when he heard Sam knocking on her window from inside the Impala. 

 

Dean reluctantly pulled away, shaking his head. “That little bitch,” Dean whispered. He glanced over his shoulder and flipped Sam off. 

When he turned back to Castiel, the angel just smiled, pure joy shining from his eyes. Dean couldn’t help but grin back, probably looking ridiculous, but he was happy then, and knew everything would be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> So, the inspiration behind this. I was just thinking, Cas is an unimaginably powerful angel of the lord. But Dean can best him in a fight so easily now, when in the beginning he couldn’t even hope to. So yeah. 
> 
> It’s my self-indulgent au where the writers didn’t de-power Cas, but Cas chooses to be de-powered :)


End file.
